*Riyan's POV**
As I caught Livia's questioning gaze, I responded smoothly, "Well, it's because of the training duel, Liv."
Using her nickname instead of the more formal "Sis" had an immediate effect—her cheeks flushed pink, and despite her earlier suspicion, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. The change in her expression was almost amusing.
*Well, I avoided her question, didn't I?* I thought with satisfaction.
The crowd of servants who'd gathered during my confrontation with Syra still lingered nearby, their expressions a mixture of shock and curiosity. The air felt thick with their unspoken questions and barely suppressed gossip.
"Get back to work," I said, injecting just enough authority into my voice to make it clear the show was over.
They scattered like startled birds, murmuring to each other as they hurried away to their various duties. No doubt the story of what had just transpired would spread through the estate like wildfire within the hour.
Livia's irritated expression told me she wasn't entirely buying my explanation about the training duel, but I didn't particularly care at this moment. I was exhausted—emotionally, mentally, physically. The confrontation with Syra had drained me in ways I hadn't anticipated, and the system's revelation about what I'd accidentally created weighed heavily on my mind.
I needed rest. I needed time to think. And most importantly, I needed to figure out how to navigate the disaster I'd just unleashed.
"I'm going to rest for a while," I told Livia, already turning toward the manor. "Training was more intense than usual."
She followed a step behind, her presence a silent question I wasn't ready to answer.
Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow I'd deal with the consequences. Tonight, I just needed to not think about yanderes, obsession, or the increasingly complicated web I was weaving.
---
**Third Person POV - The Next Day**
The morning sun cast golden light across Qara City as Riyan stood before the full-length mirror in his chambers, examining his reflection with the critical eye of someone who'd spent months learning to use appearance as a weapon.
He wore a crisp white shirt that contrasted beautifully with tailored black pants. His dark hair, which he'd finally cut to a more manageable shoulder-length, framed his face in artfully tousled waves. And those crimson eyes—striking against pale skin—held a confidence that the original Riyan Descartes had never possessed.
"I look good," he murmured to himself, then paused. "No, that's not narcissistic. I'm just appreciating objective reality."
The reflection didn't disagree.
He felt an odd sensation, as if someone somewhere was cursing him for his vanity, but he shrugged it off. With SS+ Charm, a certain amount of self-awareness about his appearance was only logical.
But appearance alone wouldn't protect him today. His fame as a continental model had reached absurd levels—his face plastered on advertisements across multiple cities, his name trending on social media platforms, fan communities dedicated to analyzing his every public appearance. The number of stalkers and overeager fans had become a legitimate security concern.
Which was why he was currently donning a disguise.
The mask covered the lower half of his face, sleek and black. Dark goggles obscured his distinctive crimson eyes. A cap completed the ensemble, pulled low enough to hide his hair. The effect was suspicious-looking at best, but it was better than being mobbed by fans every few meters.
He'd already obtained his mother's permission for this outing—something that had required surprisingly little convincing. Riya had simply looked at him with those knowing blue eyes and said, "Don't do anything that will embarrass the family."
As if he would.
Riyan exited the Descartes Estate and immediately felt the shift in atmosphere. Qara City during the day was a marvel of modern urban development—towering skyscrapers that scraped the clouds, streets bustling with pedestrians, holographic advertisements flickering with news and entertainment. Personal vehicles were restricted in most of the city, a regulation that made the streets more pleasant for walking, though nobles and influential families enjoyed exemptions from such rules.
The air itself felt different here than in the estate—less refined, more alive. The scent of street food mixed with expensive perfumes, the sound of conversations in a dozen languages, the energy of thousands of people pursuing their own purposes.
In the distance, clearly visible even from street level, the Island of Vias floated above the massive lake at the city's edge. The floating island was a marvel of ancient magic and modern engineering, home to Reyas Academy and accessible only through specialized portals.
Soon, Riyan would be there. But first, he needed to clear his head.
He walked without particular destination, enjoying the anonymity his disguise provided even as he attracted strange looks from pedestrians who clearly found his outfit suspicious. Let them stare. Better suspicious than recognized.
His wandering eventually took him toward the older commercial district, where buildings pressed closer together and alleyways carved dark paths between structures. The atmosphere shifted here—less polished, more gritty, the kind of place where the city's gleaming facade showed its cracks.
That's when he heard it.
Muffled sounds from a nearby alley—the kind of noises that spoke of violence and desperation. His first instinct was to ignore it. This wasn't his problem. He had enough complications in his life without seeking out more.
Then the system chimed.
[Ding!]
[New Mission Detected!]
[Mission: Saving...!]
[Description: Save the young boy from the Aura Assassins from Akira Organization]
[Reward: Dark Spirit Spear Art]
Riyan stopped in his tracks, staring at the notification with a mixture of resignation and frustration.
"Do I have to do this?" he muttered. "Shouldn't there be a damsel in distress instead of a boy?"
The system didn't respond, but Riyan could feel the weight of the "Curse of the Villain" affecting even his missions. Of course the typical heroic scenario would be twisted for someone marked as a villain.
Still, the reward was tempting. Dark Spirit Spear Art would complement his existing techniques perfectly, especially given his SS+ Darkness affinity.
"Fine," he sighed. "Let's do it."
He turned into the alley, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dimmer light. The scene that greeted him was exactly what he'd expected—three men with strange aura tattoos covering their arms had cornered a young boy against the alley's dead end. Their faces were covered, but what skin showed was marked with vicious scars. Their auras marked them as D to C rank—competent enough to be dangerous to civilians, but nothing exceptional.
The boy they'd cornered wore expensive clothes that screamed "wealthy family," which explained the assassination attempt. Political intrigue, family feuds, business rivalries—the usual reasons people killed children in this world.
What surprised Riyan was the boy's demeanor. He wasn't panicking or crying or trying to threaten them with his family's influence. He just sat there, watching everything with an odd calmness that seemed out of place for someone his age facing death.
The assassins were speaking in low tones, some kind of coded language that Riyan's Reader's Eye talent helped him partially decipher. They were discussing timing, patrol routes, cleanup procedures.
Riyan glanced at his wristwatch. "I don't have much time. I'm hungry."
He stepped forward. "Let's finish this."
His voice cut through the assassins' conversation. They whirled toward him, their postures shifting immediately into combat readiness.
"Get out of here, kid," one of them snarled, waving dismissively. "This ain't your matter."
"Wait," another interrupted, his scar-covered face twisting into an ugly grin. "This bitch has seen us. Better to finish him here too."
The third assassin nodded. "Fine. But be quick. We need to leave before the Patrolling Hunters arrive."
The second assassin pulled a knife from his pocket, licking the blade with theatrical menace before launching himself at Riyan. His speed was impressive—enhanced by either his aura tattoos or some kind of enchantment technique. For a normal person, the attack would have been fatal.
Riyan stood completely relaxed, not even shifting his stance.
*Aura Enchantment or those tattoos? Doesn't matter.*
The assassin's smile widened at Riyan's apparent lack of response. He drove the knife forward, aiming directly for Riyan's heart—a killing blow without hesitation.
Riyan had intended to use magic to deflect it, but the moment he tried to channel mana, nothing happened. His eyes narrowed slightly. *Mana suppression artifact. Clever.*
But they'd made a critical mistake. They'd assumed he only used mana.
The Dual Energy User talent meant he had options they couldn't account for.
As the knife closed the final distance, Riyan simply ducked. The motion was economical, perfectly timed, making the assassin's enhanced speed work against him. Before the man could adjust, Riyan's hand shot up and caught his wrist mid-strike.
"A-Aura User?!" The assassin's eyes widened in horror. "But I sensed Mana on you!"
Riyan didn't bother explaining. Instead, he channeled aura into his leg and kicked upward with brutal precision, striking the man's crotch with enhanced force.
"AAAAAHHHHH!"
The scream was visceral, agonized, the kind of pain that transcended dignity. The assassin's grip loosened, and his knife tumbled from nerveless fingers.
Riyan caught it before it hit the ground.
In one smooth motion, he drove the blade into the assassin's throat.
The man's eyes went wide with shock and the unique terror of someone who'd underestimated their opponent. Blood sprayed as Riyan withdrew the knife, and the body crumpled to the ground with a wet thud.
In his death throes, the assassin's hand caught Riyan's mask, tearing it away and revealing his face.
Riyan's expression as he looked down at the corpse was utterly indifferent, as if killing was nothing more remarkable than swatting an insect.
"It's Young Master Riyan!" The boy's voice rang out with excitement. "My idol!"
[Ding!]
[Serx's Loyalty increasing rapidly!]
[Serx's Loyalty increasing rapidly!]
[Serx's Loyalty increasing rapidly!]
[Congratulations to Host!]
[Serx has become a complete Fanatic of Host!]
Riyan's eye twitched at the notifications, but he didn't look at the boy. Instead, he turned his attention to the remaining two assassins, his voice cold and practical.
"I'm giving you a chance. I want to go sightseeing, so I'd rather keep my clothes clean. Leave now."
The assassins exchanged glances. They hadn't been paying attention before, but now they recognized him. Riyan Descartes—young master of one of the continent's most powerful families. The kind of person only a madman would cross.
More importantly, they'd just watched their stronger companion die in seconds to someone who'd barely seemed to try. The calculating coldness in those crimson eyes promised that killing them would be just as effortless.
They nodded at each other and ran, fleeing in opposite directions without looking back.
Riyan let them go. Chasing them would require effort he wasn't willing to expend, and they'd already learned the lesson that mattered.
He walked over to the boy, crouching down to eye level. "Alright, man. Now you can go home."
The brown-haired boy looked at him with the expression of a devoted fan meeting their idol. "U-Um, thank you, big brother Riyan!"
Riyan's eye twitched again. *Big brother? This fanatic is calling me big brother when he looks basically my age?*
He flicked the boy's forehead with enough force to sting. "Why didn't you attack them earlier? I can feel you're stronger than them."
The boy rubbed his forehead, his admiration not dimming in the slightest. "They used a Mana Suppression artifact in this area to seal the mana of anyone entering. I couldn't use my abilities."
That explained the boy's calm demeanor. He'd been waiting for an opportunity, probably hoping the assassins would make a mistake.
[Ding!]
[Mission Completed!]
[Does Host want to redeem rewards?]
"Redeem it," Riyan thought eagerly.
[Dark Spirit Spear Art redeemed!]
Knowledge flooded his mind—stances, techniques, combinations that merged darkness manipulation with spear combat in ways his existing styles didn't cover. It would take practice to master, but the foundation was now his.
Curious, he checked the boy's status.
[Status
Name: Serx Lives
Current Rank: C+
Talents: S Rank Tank
Affinity: S Rank Protection Magic
Weapon Mastery: Shield (Expert)
Skills: Protection Shield (★★★★), Essence Shield (★★)
Age: 19 years
Race: Human
Affiliation: Lives Family, Vassal of Descartes Family
Favorability: Fanatic
Identity: Minor Villain and Loyal Subordinate of Host in Novel "Saint's Odyssey"
Remark: Sees Host as Idol, Role Model, Boss, and Leader]
*Fanatic favorability. Well, I guess this is 'Saving a Fanatic in Distress' instead of the usual trope.*
Serx's eyes were practically shining with admiration. "Thanks so much, big brother Riyan! You were so cool! I'm your GREATEST FAN! You didn't even hesitate when killing that assassin. You're awesome!" He pulled out what looked like a small notebook. "Can I get your autograph?"
Riyan flicked his forehead again, harder this time. "You're an unusual fan."
But he signed the notebook anyway. Building loyalty, even from unusual sources, was strategically valuable.
He heard footsteps approaching—probably the Patrolling Hunters Serx had mentioned earlier. Time to leave.
Riyan stood, patting Serx's shoulder. "Be careful next time. Not everyone is as generous as me." He started walking away, then called back over his shoulder. "When the Hunters arrive, let them handle everything. And don't tell them about me."
He waved without looking back. "Just take care of the Hunters."
Behind him, Serx watched with a manic grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with fanatical devotion.
"Hehe... I met my greatest idol... my role model... my leader... MY GOD!"
Riyan, already turning the corner, felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with his Darkness affinity.
*What the hell did I just create?*
---
#